


Before

by softgrungeprophet



Series: The House AU [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, First Meetings, M/M, Mutual Coming Out, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of timestamps preceding the fic called Threshold.<br/>Chronological order,  from their first meeting to marriage.<br/>No set publication dates. Will update at random.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before

Chuck heaved his most dramatic sigh, rubbing his forehead as he made his way down the familiar streets of Portland, Oregon. Late March, and there were flowers out and a blue sky and a slight chill breeze—all Chuck could think about was that he'd be thirty-three in approximately one month. Thirty-three! Old as all get out. People would start calling him "gramps" and helping him across the street before he knew it. Chuck sighed again. He figured he ought to turn his attention to actually getting to where he wanted to be.

He had been looking for someone—a coworker—but he couldn't remember their face, for some reason. Only that they had told him they would meet up with him before the concert, so they could go together.

And here he was, heading toward the concert as the sky darkened. The person hadn't met him. No one had even glanced in his direction. No one seemed on the lookout for a scruffy thirty-something year old hipster. Chuck had sat in that Starbucks for something like three hours, right by the window, right where his acquaintance had told him to wait, but... nothing. Not even a trace of any coworkers or friends.

More sighs, and drooping shoulders. At least he could look forward to the Belle and Sebastian concert.

But the number of tipsy college kids... It was spring break, for sure. Chuck made sure to avoid anyone looking a little too wobbly, and hurried to the Roseland as fast as he could. He didn't want to be caught alone at night. Had never liked the feeling, whether in his small hometown or in the big city he'd been living for years. He just felt vulnerable at night. Like someone would jump out of an alley and tackle him down and rob him, or beat him up, or something else terrible.

Soon enough, he was in the theater, and he didn't have to worry quite so much about getting mugged or assaulted. He could disappear into the crowd, as the band tuned their instruments. He could drink beer and convince himself that just because he'd stopped injecting testosterone didn't mean people would suddenly start calling him "miss" or "ma'am" again. He shook his head.

The place seemed pretty full—he didn't think Belle and Sebastian were so popular, but maybe it was just the massive amounts of college students looking for something to do on the Thursday before spring break officially started. (Actually, Chuck had no idea when spring break actually was but he assumed it was soon, whether it was already underway or still finals week.)

He managed to find himself a nice little corner to watch the concert from, beer in hand. Calm, for the most part. Laidback. No need to worry he would be trampled to death by a mosh pit, or anything like that. Just the opening acts and the relaxed feeling Chuck got listening to music.

After the concert, Chuck found himself heading for a coffee shop once more. Or maybe it was a donut shop. He couldn't quite tell, dazed as he was from fatigue and alcohol. He just knew it was open 24/7 and had both coffee and donuts. Perfect. His stomach growled as he walked inside, and he closed his eyes for a second in the warm air. Until someone jostled him, of course. He hurried to the counter and got himself an Americano and a simple chocolate donut.

The shop was surprisingly packed for so late at night—maybe not so surprisingly, now that he thought about it. There wasn't a single empty table, so Chuck found himself picking his way between chairs, awkwardly mumbling questions along the lines of "is... anyone sitting here?" Everyone ignored him, or maybe he wasn't talking as loud as he intended. Eventually, with enough perseverance and shy enquiries, Chuck found himself sitting across from a couple of college students—both boys, one with slick black hair and neat clothing, and the other looking like a product of the nineties grunge scene. Just like Chuck!

Chuck was content to sit crooked in his seat, avoiding eye contact as he poked at his donut. But the grunge boy wanted to introduce himself.

"Hey, I'm Joe." The kid straightened his torn flannel shirt and elbowed the other young man. "And this is my roommate, Michael."

Michael seemed to smile, but Chuck couldn't be sure—it was a delicate, fleeting thing. He held his hand out, for Chuck to shake. Chuck couldn't refuse for fear of seeming rude, so he shook Michael's hand. It was warm and his handshake was firm, and his palm was just a little rough. Chuck cleared his throat and pulled his hand away, looking down at his plate with a little bit of heat creeping up the back of his neck.

"I—I'm, uh... I'm Chuck." He managed to smile at Michael, looking up just long enough to make eye contact. "Nice to meet you." He tore off a piece of his donut and shoved it into his mouth, as if that could somehow make him feel less awkward. It probably did the opposite of what he intended, seeing as he tore off a bigger piece than he meant to.

But Michael did that tiny smiling thing again, and murmured something about it being a pleasure to meet Chuck.

Chuck shrugged and made a weird noise of disagreement. Joe laughed, and Michael smirked, and Chuck felt the heat spreading from the back of his neck to his ears and face. A blush, and probably a strong one with the remnants of beer and embarrassment flooding Chuck's system. He sipped from his coffee and nearly burned his mouth. He made a face, and put his fingers to his lip as if he could tell whether he'd been burnt by touch alone.

Michael didn't speak much, unless spoken to. He seemed content to sit back and listen to Joe ramble on about the concert and "this hot chick" he'd apparently made plans to hook up with.

Chuck tried to hurry his way through his food, but the Americano was not going to let him finish quickly. He blew on it, wishing for another donut. Wishing for an ice cube made of milk. Something. Something, just to occupy him or get him out of the crowded coffee shop as soon as possible. He rested his face in his hands, elbows against the tabletop as he waited for his coffee to cool. He wanted a nap. He wanted to be in bed, or to be on the couch watching a movie, or to be full of caffeine already and not so exhausted.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Chuck glanced up, between his fingers. Michael was watching him, gray eyes (or were they green?) seemingly full of concern for a complete stranger. Chuck sighed and shook his head. Wait. No, he'd meant to nod. "I'm fine." He leaned back in his chair and let his hands drop to his lap. "Just sleepy and worn out."

Michael stared at Chuck, skeptical. "Do you need to eat? I can buy you a bagel, if you'd like."

"What—" Chuck held his hands up. "No, I—I can get myself something. I–I mean, I have money for myself." He shook his head, crossing his arms and glowering down at his coffee. "I swear. I'm just tired, and I just... just want my coffee to be less burning so I can be less tired. I—if I was hungry, I'd buy myself something."

Michael narrowed his eyes. He stood, and disappeared into the clamor of young people caffeinating themselves. He came back a few minutes later with a plain, toasted bagel. He set the plate in front of Chuck and said, in a firm voice, "You should eat. I know an excuse when I see one."

Chuck grimaced. "But— _money_."

"No." Michael sat down beside his roommate, and Chuck saw he'd gotten himself a toasted sesame seed bagel with cream cheese on it.

"Fine." Chuck looked down at his bagel. Just butter, melted along the barely burnt edges where the bagel had been sliced... But he never could resist a plain, buttered, toasted bagel. Something about how squishy it got inside in comparison to the crispy toasted parts... He ripped the bagel into pieces, careful not to burn himself on the still-hot butter, and began to eat it one piece at a time.

Michael smiled at him.

Chuck couldn't help but smile back—much less charming, surely, but genuine.

By the time Chuck finished his bagel, he felt much more relaxed. And his coffee was a decent temperature to drink, finally. He sipped at it. Michael had finished all of his food and his coffee a long time ago—and Joe had actually left, while Chuck was in the middle of eating his bagel. He'd gone with the excuse that he needed to pee, and he hadn't come back. Michael assured Chuck this was because he'd left to hook up with the woman he'd mentioned earlier. Chuck just smiled and nodded.

"So, do you live nearby?"

Chuck tilted his head, with a questioning noise. He took a moment to swallow his mouthful of coffee and clear his throat. "Yeah, uh—Lived here since... since college, actually. My dad lives all the way in Missouri, though. But he visits—uh, sorry. Anyway. Um... how about you?" Chuck shifted in his seat, unable to find a particularly comfortable way to sit.

Michael shook his head. "I'm only visiting. I'm currently attending the university in Salem. I live there, as well." He leaned his forearms against the table, tapping a finger against the worn wood. "My family lives in New York." He glanced at Chuck, not quite smiling but not frowning, either. "I'm on break in two days. Finals already ended. Where did you go to college?"

"Oh—" Chuck made a face. "Just the community college. See, my dad lives in Missouri now and that's where I was born, but we actually lived in Portland for a long time before he moved back to Missouri—anyway, yeah. Community college."

Quietly, Michael continued to tap on the table. He leaned back in his chair, and Chuck couldn't help but notice that he had very nice arms...

"How old are you?" Michael raised his eyebrows. "Out of curiosity."

Chuck shrugged, wrinkling his nose. "I'm gonna be thirty-three on the thirtieth of April." He fiddled with some crumbs on his plate. "Um... probably older than you, huh?" He laughed, nervously.

A nod, and Michael said, "I'm twenty."

Chuck nearly choked on his coffee. "Oh, God." He coughed, and wiped his hand on the back of his mouth. "S—sorry, you must think I'm weird. Some... some old guy talking to a college kid late at night."

"I don't think it's particularly strange." Michael shrugged, and it reminded Chuck of a cat. "The place is crowded, after all. Anyway, thirteen years isn't so bad. There are plenty of celebrities _married_ to people fifteen years older or younger than them, so I don't think a casual chat is that odd. Not that I plan to marry you, anytime soon."

More nervous laughter from Chuck, as he processed the things Michael was saying. "Right..." Was he flirting? Or just being friendly? Chuck couldn't tell. He had so much trouble with this kind of thing—random hookups in bars were so much easier than small talk. "Um... yeah. Yeah, anyway, what brings you to Portland—oh, I guess... the concert your roommate mentioned, probably?"

"Yes."

"Right."

They spent a good few minutes in silence, as Chuck worked on finishing his coffee. He traced his fingertip across the grain of the wood as he drank. He was trying to decide whether or not to get up and take his cup to the trash can, when Michael cleared his throat. Chuck looked up at him.

Michael seemed almost reluctant to speak, but he did—quieter than before. "This might be a strange question, or even rude... but... well..." He scratched the back of his neck.

Chuck held his breath a moment. This couldn't be good.

"I just—you know, my roommate... Joe, he said he was going to meet that girl, and... well... We're staying in a hotel room together, and I was wondering..."

And, slowly, Chuck felt himself relax and smile. "You need a place to stay." Just a college kid asking a stranger to let him sleep on his couch. Not a question Chuck expected, but better than anything he'd imagined on his own. (For example: "are you averse to cannibalism?" or "how much for one night?")

Michael nodded. "I can give you some money. I just don't think it would be appreciated if I... you know."

"If you walked in on them?" Chuck laughed. "Hey, it's no problem. I—I have a futon for a couch and everything so you can sleep on that. As long as you don't, like... trash my apartment, I'm totally cool with it." He ran his fingers through his hair and sat up straighter.

"Thank you, truly." Michael gave Chuck this solemn, kind of adorable look and when Chuck laughed at him again he went a little pink in the cheeks. "I'm sorry for imposing on you, considering we've only just met."

Chuck shook his head, standing with his cup in hand. "It's really not a problem. Just don't kill me or go through my stuff." He narrowed his eyes at Michael. "You're not a murderer, right?"

Hands up in defense. "No, I swear."

Chuck shot him a crooked grin before going to throw his coffee cup away. He came back and held his hand out to Michael, not because he needed help standing but just to be polite. Michael followed his lead, out into the cool night air. They stopped on the curb, and Chuck looked up at Michael.

"Walk, or cab? I live a few blocks away."

Michael shrugged. "If it's not too far, we might as well walk." He craned his neck to look down the street. Not much in the way of traffic, not even many people. He put his hands in his pockets. "I like to walk. Cheaper than the cab, as well, but if you'd like to take a cab I can pay for it."

"Nah." Chuck waved his hand and started off down the sidewalk. "It'd be quicker to walk, anyway." He looked over his shoulder to make sure Michael was following him. "And you can beat up anyone who tries to mug us, right?" He laughed.

He got a quiet laugh out of Michael, and smiled to himself with a slight sense of accomplishment. Michael seemed so...not quite serious, or brooding, but he certainly wasn't the laughing and grinning type from what Chuck could tell so far. Reserved, that was the word. Chuck looked over his shoulder again. He paused a moment so Michael drew even with him, and started walking again—he felt more at ease with Michael by his side, rather than trailing behind him.

They got to his apartment in a few minutes, as expected. Chuck fumbled his key a little, but got the door open fine. He led Michael in and said, "Home sweet home." Raised his eyebrows. "Take your shoes off so it doesn't get dirty. I don't like to vacuum."

Michael did as asked, wordlessly, and followed Chuck to the living room.

Chuck set him up with the futon, and showed him where the bathroom was. On his way out of the living room, he moved to turn the lights off but Michael spoke up with a quiet, "Wait—please, leave the lights on." Chuck tilted his head, curious, but he left the lights as they were and made his way down the hallway to get ready for bed.

He got up once to pee in the dark, early morning around two. From the bathroom door, he could see the slight glow of the lamp by the futon. He crept down the hall and peeked into the living room. Michael was fast asleep, with the lamp on the dim setting. Chuck shrugged to himself and went back to bed.

In the morning, Chuck made himself toast and coffee, waiting for Michael to wake up. A heavy sleeper, apparently. The sun streamed bright through the windows, the house reeked of black coffee and burning bread, and someone was mowing their lawn nearby while birds made a racket from the tree right outside Chuck's apartment building. And yet, Michael stayed fast asleep. Eventually, Chuck got up the nerve to go poke Michael's shoulder.

Michael stirred.

Chuck poked him again. "Uh—morning? Wake up so I can ask you if you're hungry."

Michael grumbled, but after a second he peeked one eye open. Frowned. Then he breathed in deep and sat up, looking around. "Wh—" He rubbed his forehead. "I apologize. I forgot where I was for a moment. I'll leave, soon."

"Oh, no, it's fine." Chuck held his hands up, backing away a little bit. "I just... I wondered if you were hungry or anything."

"Oh—" Michael sat still a moment, but then he nodded. "I _am_ hungry, but I'd rather not bother you any more than I have."

He stood, and Chuck backed away some more. "It's really not a problem." Chuck gestured behind him, toward the general direction of the kitchen. "I was gonna make some hash browns, anyway, so you can um... You can have some, if you want." He watched Michael, worried for a moment that he might realize Chuck was lying.

But Michael nodded, slowly. "Alright." He sort of smiled at Chuck. "Lead the way."

Chuck grinned, and scurried off to the kitchen with Michael on his tail.

Their breakfast lasted until eleven, and after that Michael insisted that he should go. Chuck, in turn, insisted he use the bathroom because his hair was sticking out in strange ways and he smelled strongly of cigarettes and coffee. Michael conceded, and slunk away to the bathroom.

In the soft late-morning light, with the sound of the shower the only thing to break the silence (other than birds), Chuck sat on the couch and read. Some Clive Barker book he had laying around, thick as a brick and a little worn at the edges. He leaned against the arm of the couch as he read, careful not to mess up his glasses as he moved. At one point, he heard a thud from the bathroom, and slight cursing, but when nothing else happened he looked back down at his book. By the time Michael emerged from the bathroom, slightly damp and looking much cleaner, Chuck didn't feel like he'd gotten very far—maybe two pages.

"Hey—" Michael sat down on the other side of Chuck. Close, but not too close. He looked at Chuck, head barely tilted. "I tripped getting out of the shower and I kind of got water on some of your stuff."

Chuck made a face. "Which stuff?"

Michael held his hands up. "Not all of it, just the towel and some toilet paper and other toiletries that I'm sure are waterlogged now. So... I can buy you some more, or something. I'll cover the cost." He scratched the back of his head. "I wanted to apologize, though. I'm a little clumsy in the mornings..." He grimaced.

Quietly, Chuck nodded. "I know what you mean. I'm clumsy always." He paused. "Wait, waterlogged...?" He put his book down and crossed his legs. "By 'other toiletries,' you don't mean... "

"Sanitary products." Michael looked down at his lap, and Chuck could have sworn he blushed just a little bit.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Just call them pads, dude. That's what they _are_. Pads and tampons." He pushed at Michael's shoulder, and hauled himself to his feet. "You wanna be my bodyguard in the _scary_ streets and take me to Rite-Aid?" He smiled, teasingly. "It's a ten minute walk."

With a quick nod, Michael stood up. "I can do that." He crossed his arms, obviously trying to look more serious and composed—but Chuck could tell he was embarrassed by the way he kept looking around at different things, and how he hunched his shoulders. Chuck let a broad smirk overtake his face, and pulled Michael toward the front door. Michael let himself be steered around with no resistance whatsoever.

It was nice outside. Sunny. Chuck kept his sweater on, of course, but Michael left his jacket on the coatrack, arms bare in the balmy weather. (Chuck only stared a little bit.)

"So..." Michael cleared his throat, hands in his pockets now, as they walked. He glanced at Chuck briefly, then back at the sidewalk. Clearly, he meant to ask some kind of awkward question.

Chuck sighed, and grimaced. "Look, man—before you ask, no, they're not my sister's. They're not my mom's. My mom is dead, I don't have a sister, they're for me." He looked up at Michael, to his side. "Okay? Don't make this all weird."

Michael nodded. "I'm sorry about your mom. And... I'm sorry for, as you said, making this weird. I didn't want to ask, but I also didn't want to assume." He shrugged, like a cat. "I have a lot of brothers and one of them is genderqueer, but he likes the pronouns that men tend to use, and I know that—Well, he's explained to me that it's best not to make assumptions, and always ask for someone's pronouns." Michael kind of smiled, finally, and met Chuck's eye. "I just never know how to ask. Whether I'm asking for a person's pronouns or if they're gay like me, I always get flustered."

Chuck nodded. "Personally, I like 'he' and 'him' but my name works just fine." He leaned out, checking traffic. "But I'm not gay. I'm bi." He winked, and crossed the street, inching his way around some jackass who'd decided to stop with his front tires in the crosswalk. He half-ran to the curb, and stopped to wait for Michael who had managed to get stopped by the "Don't Walk" signal. Chuck laughed to himself, hopping from one foot to the other while he waited for Michael to cross the street.

"Well, I _am_ gay."

Chuck laughed. "Glad we've gotten all this out in the open, stranger." He pulled Michael along down the sidewalk.

Michael raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. He followed Chuck, until they were in the Rite-Aid. Followed him while they were inside, too, actually. He trailed behind Chuck at all times, though he looked away shyly in the aisle full of pads and tampons. The condom display didn't make him any less awkward—Chuck noticed him hovering at the end of the aisle, pink in the face.

"Somebody's bashful." Chuck grabbed what he needed and moved toward Michael. "For such a handsome, confident young man you sure are embarrassed by all this stuff." He raised his eyebrows, smirking a little.

Michael shook his head with a quiet huff, taking his wallet from his pocket as they went to the register. "I'm not embarrassed."

Chuck snorted. "Right." He handed his stuff to the cashier and stood aside so Michael could swipe his card. "I bet you can't even say the word 'sex' without blushing."

Narrowing his eyes as he paid, Michael muttered, "I can say the word 'sex' just fine." But he was still blushing, so Chuck poked him in the arm.

" _Suuuure_."

Michael sighed in exasperation, and for a moment it seemed like he would roll his eyes, but he just pocketed his wallet and stepped away so Chuck could grab the bag from the cashier. They went back outside, and stood still a moment on the curb while Chuck double-checked he hadn't forgotten anything in the store.

Once certain he hadn't lost something, Chuck started off down the sidewalk once more, steering toward home.

By the time they got to Chuck's apartment, it had begun to rain. Not just a light drizzle, either—a drumming, incessant rain made up of many small, sharp drops. They ran up the steps to get inside, and recovered in the shelter of the hallway. Chuck shook the rain from his hair and laughed, a little breathless. He dropped the Rite-Aid bag on the floor at his feet. Leaned on the wall, catching his breath, watching Michael smooth his now-damp hair back.

A few moments of harsh breathing passed before Chuck broke the silence. "Hey, uh... You should hang out a while." He cracked a crooked half-smile, as he looked up at Michael. Pulled his sweatshirt off, since it was cold from the rain, and rubbed the goosebumps from his arms.

"Who, me?" Michael wiped his face on his shirt. He tilted his head, meeting Chuck's eye.

Chuck nodded. "Of course—I mean, why not? It's so rainy now, and I don't want you to catch a cold or anything, and you know... I've got the day off from work today, and the complete collection of _Bewitched_ on DVD..." He shrugged. "It—it's just a thought."

"Alright."

"Wh—" Chuck looked up. "Really?"

Michael shrugged, and bent down to take his shoes off. "You have a point, about the rain." When he straightened up, he said, "Let me make lunch and we can watch your show. Deal?"

"Deal." Chuck stuck his hand out, and Michael shook it.


End file.
